The Forest Laird(69)

Ewan unclenched his fist, flexing his fingers slowly, and continued in a quieter voice. “And so Edward was named feudal overlord of Scotland in May last year—and within days there was an English army at Norham and all the Scots royal castles were surrendered to the English.” He turned his head to look directly into my eyes. “According to the lawyers on both sides, they were handed over temporarily, to be returned later, of course, once a new King of Scots has been crowned. But in the meantime, Edward holds them and we lack them, and their strength looms over us, manned by English garrisons.

“And then in June, less than a month after that, all the Guardians resigned and were reappointed by Edward the same day, and two days after that they all swore fealty to Edward—but not as feudal overlord, as was agreed at Norham. Oh, no. This time they swore their allegiance and fealty to Edward Plantagenet, Lord Paramount of Scotland. God help us all!”

“Ewan,” I said, “I know all that, knew it while it was happening. But you. You were never this political before.”

“No, I was not.” He leaned forward. “You’re right. Not even when Edward was doing to my homeland of Wales what he is now preparing to do to Scotland.”

“Oh come, Ewan,” I said, close to scoffing. “That was war, and Wales was his enemy. I would hardly say it’s as bad as that here.”

“Oh, would you not?” He raised his chin until he was almost looking down his boneless nose at me. “Then you will have to pardon me, Master James. How old are you now?”

I hesitated, dismayed by the hostility in his tone. “Twenty, as you know.”

“Aye, twenty …” He managed to make it sound like an infantile age.

“It’s clear you have a point to make and I am missing it. Explain it again, if you will.”

“It’s nothing you would know, Jamie,” he said in a kinder tone. “You’re a priest, or as near as can be, living in an Abbey. Everything you hear is filtered for the Church’s ears. It’s those of us who live outside who know what’s really going on. The south is full of English soldiery nowadays. They’re everywhere around us, like a coating of slimy, foul-smelling moss, and there’s no way to stay clear of them. They lord it over everyone, and there seems to be no one to whom they are accountable. At the lowest level, the common men-at-arms are ruled by knights and sergeants. Those in turn are commanded by bailiffs and petty officers, who are appointed to various duties by sheriffs and justiciars, who hold their power through the various barons Edward has brought with him to Scotland. And the barons serve the earls—”

“The English earls, you mean.”

“Aye, in most instances, but when the Scots Earl of Carrick’s men, many of whom are Englishmen, are mixed with those of the English Earl of Hereford, who is to tell which is which in the heat of an argument? The earls are all Edward’s deputies, of course, Scots and English—that goes without saying—but collectively their retainers act as though they are a law unto themselves. They lean heavily on the Scots folk and treat them like serfs.”

“Like serfs? How is that possible?”

“How is it possible? Jamie, it’s commonplace. Certainly where we are, in the south, but I’ll be surprised if it is different anywhere else. There are too many English here nowadays, and too few of us, and there is no war between us—only arrogance on their part and long-suffering acceptance on ours. But they treat us like a conquered folk and make no effort to disguise their contempt for us.”

“Can you give me an example?”

“Aye, I can. It’s the reason Will needs to come home. He’s a wanted man because of it, but he did nothing wrong. He committed no crime, broke no laws. He simply crossed the English. But now there’s a price on his head and he’s in hiding and dare not come home.”

“A price on his head … How much?”

“Five silver marks.”

“And for what is he being sought?”

“For assaulting an English soldier who was doing his duty.”

“And is that true?”

“I’ll tell you what happened, and you can judge for yourself.” He wedged his back against the wall behind him and launched immediately into his story.

“About three months ago, perhaps three and a half, Will and I travelled to Glasgow to meet with Bishop Wishart and report on our stewardship, and on our way home again we stopped at Lanark, to pick up some yarn and thread and the like for Mirren at the Lanark Fair. The town was full of soldiery, most of them English, though some of them were Scots, but we had grown accustomed to that, because we had noticed, on the way north, that there were more English everywhere than we’d ever seen before. But we had kept to ourselves, avoided contact with anyone and encountered no difficulty, and behaved the same way on our return journey—until we came to Lanark.